


Late Capitalism Devours Itself

by treefrogie84



Category: Monopoly (Board Game) - Fandom, Planters "Mr. Peanut" Commercials
Genre: Anaphylaxis, Breathplay, Coming Untouched, First Time, Fisting, Last Time, M/M, Oil as Lube, Unsafe Sex, dead peanut do not eat, erotic asphyxiation, murder/suicide pact, top mr. peanut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:21:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treefrogie84/pseuds/treefrogie84
Summary: Many thanks to the SPNMultishipper Armada for... i don't even know. They came up with this and I just wrote it down. Thayer helped me come up with most of the good tags, and Dorkily helped with the title. Related: unbeta'd, barely read over, and i'm choosing not to care.So it turns out, Mr. Peanut and Mr. Pennybags have names? Bartholomew Richard Fitzgerald-Smythe and Milburn Pennybags.
Relationships: Mr. Peanut/ Mr. Pennybags
Comments: 34
Kudos: 20





	Late Capitalism Devours Itself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FormidablePassion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FormidablePassion/gifts), [Threshie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threshie/gifts).



> Many thanks to the SPNMultishipper Armada for... i don't even know. They came up with this and I just wrote it down. Thayer helped me come up with most of the good tags, and Dorkily helped with the title. Related: unbeta'd, barely read over, and i'm choosing not to care.
> 
> So it turns out, Mr. Peanut and Mr. Pennybags have names? Bartholomew Richard Fitzgerald-Smythe and Milburn Pennybags.

He’s not sure he trusts his driver anymore, but the man drops him off at the hotel without a word. Bartholomew leaves his wallet in the backseat-- he won’t need it any more and perhaps his driver-- Richard, maybe? Or Bernard?-- will find the cash more useful.

“Mr. Peanut, sir.” The liveried doorman opens the door for him, not even bothering to hide his smirk at Bartholomew's change of circumstances. He hurries to the elevator and then to Milburn's rooms, doffing his top hat.

"It's true, then," Milburn says as Bartholomew drops his hat and gloves on the side table by the door, leaning his cane against the umbrella stand. "It's all gone?" He's still wearing his tuxedo, prepared for a night out celebrating yet another business election win, although his bowtie is undone, the ends lying limp against his shirt.

"A few might survive," Bartholomew whispers. "That Ronald fellow, or the bulldog. But most of us? We're going the way of the diamond industry, or golf."

Milburn nods silently, reaching for Bartholomew's hand. "We stood tall for a long time, ol' chap. It's time we lay our burdens down." He's hesitant. They've never touched-- men of their station don't, the closest they've come is shared dinners at the club, the occasional glance in the locker room between games of golf.

The wall breached, it all comes tumbling down. Bartholomew drags Milburn's bowtie out from under his collar, trembling fingers undoing the buttons of his waistcoat before pushing it to the floor.

Milburn twitches the cufflinks from Bartholomew's shirt sleeves, abandoning them in a pile on the table, before gently, carefully, pulling the monocle from his pocket, unfastening its chain and setting it into Bartholomew's hat where it waits on the side table. 

Taking a deep breath, Milburn hastily grabs Bartholomew's hand, dragging him through the suite and into the bedroom. It only takes a few seconds for them to pull off their suits, tossing shirts over the wardrobe door, leaving them standing naked, bare to each other for the first time.

"Your allergy--" Bartholomew protests.

"We'll be dead by the end of next week," Milburn says flatly. "Replaced by some pinko commie bullshit like health insurance or student loan forgiveness." He glances away for a moment, reaching up to fiddle with his beloved mustache. "I want... I want to know your touch before the end."

Bartholomew nods. He understands-- he's been replaced by 'healthy' nuts already. Touching the only thing he has left... "Yes. Of course." Standing back, he thinks for a few minutes before nodding. "Lie down."

He doesn't dare kiss Milburn-- afraid that would end things too quickly, too painfully-- but he massages his bowed shoulders, pets his mustache, before moving down the bed. Bartholomew kisses the inside of Milburn's knees before sliding back up.

Taking his nuts in hand, he squeezes roughly, coating his hand in oil. Slowly, carefully, he works his finger inside, the soft warmth of Milburn so different than his own hard shell.

Soon, he has his entire hand inside, watching Milburn struggle to breathe around his pleasure. Bartholomew leans forward, licking away the salty-sweet cum that flows copiously from Milburn. Looking up, he grins. "Tastes like money."

"Oh, Bart--" Milburn moans, his face beat red. "Keep going. I want more!"

Bartholomew nods. "Of course." He coats his free hand in oil and then repeats the process, slipping a finger in alongside his fist and pumping carefully. 

Milburn moans, tossing his head back and forth, a steady stream of profanity spilling forth. He jerks when Bartholomew adds another finger-- up to six now, and his ass is still opening up like a flower-- and comes again, a dribble of cum sliding down his dick to mix in with the oil.

Taking a chance, Bartholomew adds his last two fingers at once, spreading Milburn wide around both hands.

Milburn gasps for air, still chanting for more.

Leaning up, Bartholomew claims Milburn's lips for the first and last time, kissing his florid cheeks and breathless mouth. His mustache tastes like rich scotch and chocolate, the remnants of a life that neither will have after tonight.

"More," Milburn rasps out. "Bart--"

"Shhh," Bartholomew whispers, resting a soothing hand on Milburn's chest. He leaves a damp handprint behind, but that will be easily cleaned away later. Taking a deep breath, he bends down and kisses Milburn's rim where it is still stretched around one wrist before withdrawing his hand. It's time. 

He stretches himself along the bed, carefully lining his head up with Milburn and inching his way forward.

Milburn freezes at the touch of hard husk, before relaxing back onto the bed, his body welcoming Bartholomew in, even as it struggles to breathe.

It's so warm inside, and tight.

Bartholomew slides in even further, angling his nose so it presses against Milburn's prostate. Then the widest part of him is through, and he's sliding home, half inside his lover.

Milburn swells and struggles around him, his allergy finally overtaking his lust. More oil releases from Bartholomew's nuts, easing his way in even further, until he's deep inside and just as breathless as Milburn. His own orgasm strikes out of nowhere, his hips jerking.

He can't slide back out, Milburn is swollen now, tight against him, but that's alright. This is what they wanted. Together at the end.


End file.
